I am a man, and my mankind is a faltering, flawed thing to see… Kinder than most raunchy assholes to be sure, but still very much a prick supreme in coldness and excess emotional distance… My nature, it seems to me, is one of a blatantly oppositional behavior unrelenting… I love people of all types, but find something to dislike in everyone almost unavoidable to keep the essence of balance… I despise my mean-spirited feeling, but find it inescapable, inviting tolerance to this particular side of myself… When I drink or otherwise become intoxicated, it almost seems to throw off those self-imposed shackles that sobriety cages these facets to my personality within, and I give all appearances to be the Hyding monster behind the skin… Not holy soulless, though, but I find it difficult at times to form compassion …
the ghosts of the past bait us to think raw thoughts on our own… breeding dismay at our own actions… from where does this ephemeral holy spirit come?… this salty gooey fluid from between the thighs and in-between the eyes and ears… a jolting sensation that brings temporary satisfaction and comfort… feelings only seen in the interactions of coitus extreme experienced to dreamy pleasures witnessed only amid the few potential inhabitants… ectoplasmic orgasmic joy… the recreation in explosions and bursts of wholly unknown substance… a quintessence that truly defines this place we find ourselves within… the stroking gesture warranted through the cash and crisp barter for services rendered as the fluid is expelled… maybe true happiness lies in not having to shoot a load across the room… lies maybe in the tender embrace of another instead of the lip-smacking …
**author’s note– this is a story submitted to a literary magazine. the title was about a certain bizarro author, that is why the name has been omitted. however, after reviewing the publication, i believe the only reason this wasn’t chosen was because it wasn’t a vocabulary assualt and was an actual disgusting story about why _____ _____ is a dick. obviously i know him better than those other fucks do. thank you for your time. ARW**
DEATH TRANCE FOR SEX ARTIST (excerpt from DEATH ART)
By ARW (©2008)
inspired by a Hunter S. Thompson article. the KIDD lives in his own deranged sense of the real and unreal, between trips to his grandfather’s house to hear stories to mend his dreary days of work-related behavior, but the KIDD finds the time to drift in and out of states of vision. awkward realms of symbols and dream made living flesh, his alarm may ring out, but is he ever truly awake?
another tale geared towards the quest of finding the right person to get drugs from, but is the Man all he seems to be, or is he the messiah?
So I picked up a few books which fall into the category ’self help’, lent to me over the last several months. You know, now that I think of it I haven’t read a book that I’ve gotten a lot out of that fits solely in the ’self help’ category. As I wrote this title [...]
a good day over the seeming halts and craggy orifices of thoughtful mention so far… there is a flair to rainy holidays from hell… with only a fraction of time between me and my love wasting away during the Valentine’s day holiday weekend, and no sign of bad luck this time around… what taints this day so?… I know not… love is not a hapless victim this time around, but solidified thing to enjoy….or so it would seem… the tricks and the trade are one and the same… games of a different name… not to be confused with meddling mask or machete… no camping or crystal clear lakes… yet the haunting trill of bad luck screams ominous… a gentle strumming of the heart strings perhaps… does the hatred for everyone mean a love for something as special?… what living …
well, not a post on slaying/transforming Chronos, but more like some of the games I’ve been into lately ;P
Besides completing my zombie clothes in Runescape, and Chad’s find, the very hilarious text-based Kingdom of Loathing (.com)…
a few weeks ago I was looking around ebay and came across these dual NES/SNES systems which stoked fond memories [...]
it was tough seeking out fun things to do, but she knew what she wanted, I stood there ready for wherever the day took us… we both had woke up feeling fine, I suppose, but nothing could have prepared us for the embarrassment that the night would close on… early in the evening, the careless demons started to take a solid control of my life, and all this before sushi was even eaten… I can’t get too descriptive because of the late-night blackout, but some of the details leading to oblivion are quite clear to me now… the sushi was great, a restaurant we both frequent very often when we can, and had some beer and sake to go with our meal… this is where the buzzing began, and I can sense now that she knows when I start …
